Tuesday Night
by element90
Summary: A moment between partners.


He places a bag of takeout onto her desk, without a word, on a quiet Tuesday night long after others have departed. Her head doesn't even lift, eyes never leave the page over which she's been reading.

"Smells like onions."

"And pickles." He drops into his chair, hands quickly unwrapping his portion.

"Are you trying to kill me?" she asks, giving her watch a glance.

"Thought you could use something real after that leaf you had for lunch," he replies dryly, then takes a large bite from his steak sub.

"Green's healthy." She tosses him a quick half-smile while composing a pile from the papers in front of her.

He smugly holds up a pickle spear before biting off half and replying around a mouthful, "Two shades of green double the healthy?"

"Just heartburn." She leans back and gives her arms a stretch above her head. "What're you doing back here, anyway?"

He shrugs lazily, munching on his dinner. He's not exactly sure. He'd been reluctant to leave in the first place. But felt a little hungry. Called home, his wife was already sleeping and eager to return to it. He knew she would still be around. So he ordered a second meal to go.

She breathes out a small sigh, reaches into the bag and brushes a strand of hair from her face. He nods once, faint trace of a smile playing on his lips as she picks the onions from the sub. They eat in silence. And when he finishes, he folds his hands behind his head and lets his eyes travel about the squad room, eventually focusing on her. But she keeps looking at her meal until only a few bites remain. Taking a drink from the bottle of water he'd included, she finally looks up at him, eyebrow raised.

"You okay?" he asks.

She lowers the bottle, screws on the lid. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"Not the first time a guy's come at me in the box, El," she scoffs, discarding her trash into the bin on the side of the desk.

His hands fall down to his sides, head tilts left. "Seemed like it got to you."

She gives him a sharp look.

He sighs, rubs his jaw. They'd caught a particular case, terrible enough but with the addition of vulgar remarks and sleazy gestures from the lowest of the low who'd managed a moment to put his hands on her. That same moment her partner put his hands on him.

"I had it."

"I know. But I had your back," he explains coolly, as if stepping in between and roughing the guy up was the only acceptable thing. To him, it was. He leans on his forearms when she shakes her head. "You'd have put him in his place if I hadn't. I just really wanted to be the one to do it."

The corner of her mouth twitches upward, almost. He pops in a piece of gum, holds out the pack to her. She passes.

"When I was young, I punched a kid." Her eyes light up in amusement, so he continues. "He kept pickin' on this girl I liked. She always held her own, but the whole thing ticked me off. One day, he grabbed her hand, tried to hold it. I just walked up and hit him."

"Did you even try to use your words?"

"Of course not."

She chuckles. "And the girl?"

"She called me a bully."

"You kind of are."

He shrugs. "What can I say? I'm protective of people I care about. It's not a bad quality to have."

The bottle of water pauses briefly midway to her mouth before she gulps down the remainder. "We should probably call it a night."

He checks the time on his wrist. Doesn't mind. It's so quiet, like the city doesn't surround them. The lights are low, casting a warm glow. It's a different place. Feels good without the detailed horrors that play out every day. No chatter, no rush. And he doesn't want to leave yet.

"S'not that late."

"Avoiding something at home?" she asks, depositing a folder into a drawer.

"Nope."

She looks around, then gives him a little nod, stands to slip into her black jacket. He watches her, how she straightens it, tugs at it to adjust. He watches how her hair falls into a thin veil to partially cover her face, how she tries twice to stop it.

"You gotta leave?" he asks, when she meets his gaze.

"Have to? No," she answers, sounding as if the notion is absurd. "Unless you count the fact I'm pretty sure I left a light on."

He stands, hands in pockets as she circles the corner of the desk. "So stay," he suggests casually.

She regards him thoughtfully for a long moment, then leans against the desk, arms crossed at her chest. He exhales a breath he'd been holding, moves to her side, mirrors her.

"I didn't thank you…" His chin falls, jaw flexes.

She knows to what he's referring. It wasn't too long ago she went to his mother seeking help for his daughter.

"I didn't do it for you," she says, and after a beat, lightly bumps her shoulder against his.

He smiles a little. And they stand together in the comfort of the silence. He looks at her from the corner of his eye, and she glances his way.

"About earlier..."

"Yeah, that wasn't the best time to come charging in on a white horse. He needed a woman to stand up to him for once, not her male partner to fight her battle," she chides gently.

"You're right."

And he'd have been happy to watch her do it, was confident she'd have handled it. But the guy was complete slime. And when he'd grabbed her, all that mattered was making sure he'd not try something like that again.

"So, I take it nothing ever happened with the girl," she says after a minute.

He shakes his head. "Nothing."

"That's too bad. Was she cute?"

"Beautiful," he replies, his voice deep and even.

She breaks visual contact quickly. "Well, you made out alright anyway."

He keeps fixed on her.

"So…" she starts slowly, pushing off the desk and sinking into her chair. "You were a carrot. And you were a bully. What else?"

He rolls his eyes, takes a seat as well.


End file.
